Chapter 34 #2
“It’s a big one. He’s getting out soon. I’ve met him and forgiven him. I think it’s time. I hope you understand.”
Scott’s eyes overflow. He uses his forefinger to trace the inscription that had taken him hours to settle on all those years ago.
Lucy Marie Reynolds. Beloved wife, mother, sister, friend.
Does she? Does she understand?
He turns when he hears a crunch of gravel behind him.
‘I wondered if you might be here,’ his sister-in-law says.
Scott swipes at his teary cheeks.
‘I think she does, you know,’ she says, pointing to the card in his hand. ‘I think she understands. I think she feels it’s time for us all to move on.’
‘You do?’
She crouches beside him and places an arm around his shoulder.
‘I think, Scott, that if she was here, she would insist on it.’
He allows the sounds of the graveyard to swirl around him.
‘I made her that promise. I said there would never be anyone else.’
‘But there is, right? And Heather’s someone you feel able to take a risk on.’
He nods.
‘So maybe you’ve honoured the promise? Perhaps it’s time to rephrase it? To something like: there’ll never be anyone else who isn’t at least similar in magnificence to you.’
The wind rustles through the trees and bird song from the large oak tree at the perimeter of the graveyard echoes through the sky.
A peace washes over Scott, and he leans into Lorraine’s arm.
‘Do you forgive me for that night?’ he asks eventually. ‘I wasn’t myself. It was as though an alarm set off in my head and I just couldn’t stop.’
She pulls him closer, wipes his fringe from his eyes and hugs him tightly.
‘Of course I do, Scott. You were triggered. I get it.’
‘The others are screening my calls now. Brianna, Heather, Georgia. None of them will pick up.’
Lorraine slides from their embrace and eases herself upright, shaking what appears to be pins and needles from her legs as she rises. She doesn’t mention how badly he treated his daughter and his girlfriend the last time they met. She probably reckons it’s very bloody obvious.
‘How can you make amends and then move forward more positively?’ she asks. It sounds like the conversation he had with Brianna in Glasgow when Georgia was absenting herself from their friendship.
Scott stands and allows his eyes to move towards the magnificent oak playing host to the birdsong. He shrugs.
‘What about the pub tonight?’ Lorraine suggests. ‘Start afresh with the people there? We’ve all missed you.’
Scott lowers his gaze to see her staring intently at him.
Is she really going there?
‘Shit. I don’t know, Lorraine. After all this time.’
‘You did it with me and survived,' she nudges him teasingly. 'It might be a start.’
Scott inhales and vents the air from his lungs through pursed lips. Maybe she’s right. Maybe they’re all right. Maybe it’s time.
‘Okay then. One drink. No more.’
Lorraine claps her hands together and pulls him into a hug.
‘I’ll see you there at eight,’ she says.
***
Scott stands on the familiar rickety step into the local bar in the small village outside Stratford-Upon-Avon, where he used to live with Lucy and Brianna.
The noise inside is audible from the step.
It’s exactly eight o’clock. He opens the door.
Lorraine, who still lives three doors down from their old house, is propping up the bar.
The entire room is pumping with music, chatter, and the clatter of glasses.
‘Scott!’ Lorraine raises her hand in greeting and waves him over. The second Scott’s foot lands over the threshold, it’s like the plug is pulled from the juke box and a two-minute silence declared.
Scott focuses on his sister-in-law and takes three steps, four, five, into the thick of the bar.
By step six, a small rumble of approval appears to ripple through the bar.
On his seventh step into the pub, Scott is aware of a solitary hand clap from the far-right corner, where Seamus, one of the regulars, used to sit when Scott, too, used to come here.
By his ninth step there is a scrape of chairs as other pubgoers stand and clap to acknowledge his presence.
By the time he arrives at the bar alongside Lorraine, the pub is in uproar.
The applause is deafening, glasses are thumped on tables and a few of the younger demographic, who are still seated, stamp their feet on the floor.
‘Looks like folks are pleased to see you,’ Lorraine says as she kisses him hello.
‘What are they clapping for?’ he asks.
‘I think they just want you to know you’ve been missed. It was a lot, you know, losing you all in that way. I lost my sister, my brother-in-law, and my niece all within the space of a fortnight. And I get it. I do. As Lucy’s twin, I’m a constant reminder that she’s not here.’
It’s almost impossible to witness the pain he’s caused reflected in her eyes.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. He shuffles up to her and side-hugs her as if the mere physical contact will disperse the years of hurt and abandonment.
Lorraine tilts her head to contact his chest, and they stay like that for a while.
By the time Scott moves away, there are three pints lined up on the bar, bought for him by locals who are welcoming him home.
The beer goes down easily, and by the time the clock hits nine, Scott feels light and loose.
He chats easily with the people he’d cut himself off from eight years ago.
In the early days after Lucy’s death, he’d felt unable to pit himself in a local version of “who’s the most to blame”, or “who sides with who”.
Scott can still remember the tirade he’d inflicted on Leon’s parents the night after Lucy’s death.
Their eighteen-year-old son was in custody, charged with involuntary manslaughter, and he stood on their doorstep and lashed out at them with some home truths about their parenting.
Scott now understands that anger is one of the inevitable stages of grief, particularly when a death is violent, unexpected, or avoidable.
The fury was all-consuming. Tonight, every conversation starts with expressions of condolence, but thereafter veers onto safer topics: politics, the weather, or the state of the local roads. It’s good to be back.
By the time the bar quiz is called, goodwill has infused Scott’s veins like warm spices. He belongs here. He’s made vast strides forward tonight, and whilst he might not yet be ready to see Leon, it’s a start. A good one.
‘Be in my team, sonny?’ Old Davey from the end of the road asks him. ‘Never been anyone like you at those weird maths questions.’
It turns out they make a formidable team: Scott, Lorraine, Old Davey and his wrinkled best mate Sebastian.